


The Hokuto Correspondence Network

by prior_notice



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: A little bit of everyone - Freeform, Canon Continuation, M/M, Multiple Pov, Original Character(s), Portions of this Fic Sound Like Travel Journalism, Post-Canon, Self-indulgent fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-08 20:55:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3223151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prior_notice/pseuds/prior_notice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>--ON HIATUS--</p><p>New waves chase the incoming tide. The youth step into the shoes of adulthood, and their footsteps are retraced by a new generation. </p><p>Three years since the first Hokuto Cup, a second wind prepares to take up their tournament seats. But while its children have become the pride of their nations, the competition is still a compelling call to all the people it has connected over the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Old and the New

**Author's Note:**

> aka, The rivalry between Shindou and Touya reach legendary (read: domestic) proportions. The international Go community are given front row seats.
> 
> A/N: portions of this chapter were written on my phone, so please forgive any funky editing/formatting that may occur.

The first year the Hokuto Cup is hosted in Korea, the Japanese delegation announces Ogata Seiji - 10 dan and newly Meijin - as Team Leader. It is a commercially and competitively boastful move, although, as Shindou Hikaru had loudly and indiscriminately announced to the Go Institute lobby that morning, it was also proof that money scrambled brains. Because impressive as it might sound to have a multi-title holder heading their tournament prospects, no one in their right mind would choose _Ogata_ , the very embodiment of irresponsibility and shady lifestyles, to lead a group of Japan's most promising but impressionable juniors.

Fearing for the well-being of the selected team members, a meeting of young players is called, ostensibly to stage an intervention. It is into this chaos that Touya Akira 9-dan, dead on his feet after a grueling five hour game in the Kisei finals, is very docilely dragged by the elbow. Crowded into a corner of the monitoring room, which Waya had apparently commandeered for the evening, Touya dozed off to the increasingly ridiculous suggestions of "Petition!", "Stage a protest!" and a voice that sounded suspiciously like Shindou bellowing, " _Get a restraining order on that peverted bastard!"_

He awoke an hour later to a hand insistently shaking his shoulder. Blinking blearily, Touya is somewhat surprised to find the previously anarchical group of young professionals all staring at back him with varying degrees of amusement, sympathy and sadistic glee. Absently, he wondered if he ought to apologise for falling asleep in the middle of a no doubt important meeting, even though he doubted its outcome really concerned him. Besides, Ogata-san wasn't nearly as bad as people made him out to be. He'd tried explaining this to Shindou all of five times, but the man had stubbornly refused to consider the possibility of Ogata being perfectly competent at his job. Other players were probably equally as mulish. Touya decided that actively participating in the meeting would be a lost cause and prepared to sink back into mindlessness.

"Touya?"

Someone was calling his name.

" _Touya!_ "

Realising that he was in fact the subject of address, Touya dragged his eyes open and, in an act of sheer tenacity, refocused them on the speaker's face. The tall speaker, Isumi, smiled, looking quite pleased. His voice sounded tinny, as though it were issuing from very far away.

Through the dim roaring noise that accompanied his rapidly tunneling vision, Touya is informed that in light of his extensive experience participating in the Hokuto Cup, and the fact that he is in solitary possession of a very large house, he has been volunteered, alongside the equally qualified Shindou Hikaru, to be the unofficial caretakers of the Japanese junior team this year, Please and Thank You, we really appreciate your cooperation.

"Oh," He mumbled, trying not to slur like a drunkard even as his eyelids surrendered their battle against gravity. "I see."

Sitting in the adjacent chair, Shouji yelped as Touya's whole body slumped and fell against him. The ensuing silence lasted a few moments before Shindou leveled a smug grin at the room at large. "I _told_ you." He gloated, "Touya agrees to everything when he's sleepy."

There was a fraction of a second where the awkward implications of that statement sunk in. Shindou's ears turned an alarming shade of puce.

"Well," Waya leered at him from where he was leaning against the doorframe "you would know."

Half of the room's occupants sniggered obnoxiously while the other half looked faintly scandalized. Isumi glared pointedly at Waya, who tried and failed to suppress his laughter, managing to snort doubly as loudly for his efforts. Shindou was spluttering protests at the top of his lungs and the uncomfortable looking flush had spread to his neck.

The meeting is deemed to be concluded.

People began to stand from their chairs, some struggling up from seated positions by the walls. With Touya still passed out against his side, Shouji looked around awkwardly, trying to make eye contact with anyone who might help him with his current predicament.

He met the disinterested gaze of Ochi, Honda’s confused countenance and Nase’s amused little smirk before lighting upon Ashiwara, one of the oldest members of their little gathering.

Ashiwara-san had an honest and open face, which almost always carried a light-hearted grin. Shouji hadn’t had the opportunity to play him yet, but they said he played a strong, friendly game, whatever that was supposed to mean. Shouji couldn’t imagine any official game being friendly, but if anyone could play in such a manner, he supposed it would be Ashiwara-san.

He’d also heard from various people that Ashiwara, who had been from youth one of Touya Kouyo's most distinguished students, had built a strong rapport with the other members of his teacher's family. So when the man hauled Touya’s unresponsive body off his shoulder and into his own arms, Shouji made the cooperative effort of shimmying away, performing an awkward half-bow in their general direction and quickly slipping out into the corridor.

He was a foot out the elevator when he heard the receptionist’s concerned _Touya-san?_ coming from the front of the lobby.

Ashiwara’s voice replied to her, speaking quickly and quietly in an effort not to wake the young man in his arms.

“Are you taking him home then?” Shouji heard the woman ask, and vaguely recalled the two children that sometimes visited her on Saturday afternoons.

“I’ll take him to Ogata-san’s place.” Ashiwara was saying. “It’s right nearby. This kid would probably wake up in Osaka if I put him on a train now.”

“Ah, yes.” The receptionist sounded appeased, as though she’d never heard the rumours that circulate about Ogata. “That’s very kind of you Ashiwara-san.”

A deprecating laugh.

“Should I call and inform his household?”

“Oh, there’s no need.” Their conversation cut off as Shouji headed out the sliding doors. “Akira lives alone.”

≡

Shouji was startled out of his periodic perusal of the subway timetable by cold metal tapping his left shoulder. He stiffened in alarm, then very warily turned around to look behind himself. It was a matter of prudence more than cowardice. At this time of the night, the underground stations were often populated by people of the shadier variety, and if he were forced to encounter one, Shouji would prefer to have all his wits about him thank you very much.

However, a quick glance revealed nothing amiss, the most that Shouji could label 'shady' being the atrocious bleach blonde bangs that decorated the young man's forehead, a cold can of Coke perspiring in his one hand.

“No need to look so twitchy,” Shindou grinned, clapping him genially on the shoulder, “it’s only me.”

“Shindou-san!” Shouji exclaimed, or rather, squeaked with the force of the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He cleared his throat, once, then again for good measure. "I didn't know you lived in this direction too."

"Yeah well." Shindou rubbed the back of his head somewhat sheepishly. "The family house is in this direction. I don't get back all that often though, after I moved out."

"Ah." Shouji could understand. He himself had moved in with his grandparents not long after he became an insei. His parents had objected at first, accusing him of being callous and uncaring towards his own family, but he'd paid them little mind. After all, what could his parents and his siblings understand? His soul was stained black and white, had been imprinted with the lines of the game long before he'd even realised that Go would be a part of his life forever.

Shouji realised he had derailed from the conversation when the arrival tone blared out over the speakers, and the lights of the subway flooded the platform. He was about to apologise, but Shindou waved it off before he could open his mouth.

"It's an occupational hazard, am I right?" They stepped into the carriage, finding no vacant seats despite the late hour.

At this time, his father would already be in bed, preparing for another early start the next morning. His siblings, still on summer vacation, were probably crowded in front of the television with the sound turned down low. Shouji could almost hear the rhythmic splashing of his mother washing the family's underclothes by hand. He'd been doing all the laundry in the house since his grandmother had shattered her hip last autumn, the rumbling of the washing machine and the familiar hollow clacking of stones the only sounds that kept him company on otherwise silent nights.

"Yeah," Shouji turned to Shindou, who was still waiting for his reply. "I guess it is."

He got an understanding smile before Shindou abruptly changed the topic. "You'll be going for the Cup this year then?" Shouji nodded. The question was really only a formality. After the smashing success of the first Hokuto tournament and all the interest it had garnered, even from the mainstream media, every young player under eighteen had been fighting tooth and nail for a place on their representative teams.

Shindou and Touya had monopolised two seats on the Japanese team every single year until the last when Touya, already neck deep in league games, had forfeited his position. Now, with the original players disqualified by age, all three seats were fair game and Shouji knew the preliminaries were going to be no stops pulled, all out war.

"Hm." Shindou suckled loudly at the mouth of his Coke can, looking inordinately pleased every time a fatigued businessman shot him a dirty look. "Do you have a study group?"

Shouji shook his head. "I was the only one in my group to pass the exam last year." He admits somewhat morosely. The other insei were probably still holding a grudge. Oka definitely was. Besides, their study sessions always conflicted with his game schedule and it would be unfair to ask them to change their plans all for one person. He told Shindou as much.

"Well, if you don't mind the age gap you could always come study with us." Shindou offered. "No one in my group qualifies for the Cup anymore, so you won't have to be on tenterhooks around anyone either. I mean, I remember that first year. I was just mentally stressed every time I had to play Ochi, or Waya, or anyone else I saw as competition." The young man grimaced at the memory, before brightening as a sudden thought struck him. "We know your opponents pretty well too." He winked conspiratorially.

Shouji gaped wordlessly, in awe of his sudden good fortune. No one in their right mind would have refused the opportunity Shindou had so casually just offered to him, and he bowed belatedly almost forgetting to thank the man in his eagerness to accept. "T-That's very kind of you, Shindou-san" He stammered awkwardly, straightening up to find said man staring at him in mock horror.

"Woah." Shindou laughed, holding up both hands. "Straighten up kid. If no one's told you this before, I'm allergic to formalities. And you can drop the _san_. Just Shindou is fine. Or Hikaru. Whatever you like really. Shindou-san reminds me of my old man." He raised an eyebrow. "I didn't pick you as a stickler for formalities either."

"I'm not really." Shouji coloured a bit. "I mean, I've been told it's something I need to work on."

Shindou loosed a loud bark of laughter. "No one that I hang around with has any real grasp of etiquette so I suggest you relax. Well, no one except for Touya, but his politeness is more than averaged out by his lack of social skills, so I wouldn't worry about it if I were you."

At the mention of Touya's name, Shouji's eyes widened and he asked with some of his usual boldness, "Will Touya-san be at your study group too?"

Shindou looked faintly amused. "Another Touya fanboy, huh? The guy's not all that impressive. I don't know why so many people are obssessed with him."

Shouji very tactfully refrained from pointing out that Shindou was probably the most obsessive of the lot.

"I played him in the Young Lions Tournament." He said instead. "He totally wiped the board with me. It was my first year as an insei too, so I guess it really left an impression."

"That asshole." Shindou rolled his eyes sympathetically. "I keep telling him not to stomp all over the little ones but then he gives me that ' _Well, how are they ever going to learn_ ' speech." He scrunched up his nose in an attempt to imitate Touya's prim, even tone. What came out sounded more like the Queen of England with a severe case of Parkinson's.

Shouji snorted with laughter, successfully waking the career woman who had been dozing in the aisle seat next to him. Shindou looked rather proud. "You don't attend school full time anymore, do you?" He asked, predicting the negative.

"Good." He beamed when Shouji gave him an incredulous look that screamed _no way_. "This is my stop so give me your number. I'll call you on Saturday morning."

Minutes later, the doors slid open, letting Shindou hop off onto the platform. He was past the exit barrier before he realised that he'd never given the kid a straight answer about Touya. Shindou spun around just as the subway doors began to close. He judged the distance, and, figuring that Shouji was still within earshot, took a deep breath and opened his mouth.

" _OI!!_ "

Shouji startled, almost dropping the phone clutched in his hand as Shindou's voice suddenly bellowed out across the station. He squinted, looking for the tall figure at the end of the platform.

" _Dress nice!_ " His new mentor commanded, still at the same earsplitting volume. " _We're going to Touya's._ " Shouji's face split open in a visible grin, wildly gesticulating his understanding through the blurry subway windows, completely oblivious to the glares being directed at him by a carriage full of irritated passengers.

After all, it seemed he was finally heading in the right direction.


	2. Harumi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The eyes of Ichikawa Harumi have watched the future grow. 
> 
> Ichikawa-san POV (mainly, with some deviation because I am inconsistent *bows in apology*)

Over the long years she had spent working at the Touya Go Salon, and it had been long, she’d been there since she was a teenager after all, Harumi had developed a knack of identifying her patrons by their footsteps. 

The regulars were the most obvious, of course. Kitajima-san’s stomp up the stairs in the morning, often accompanied by Morinaga-san, whose slow tread up to the second floor elevator still left him puffing by the end of the trip. Ashiwara always lifted his feet like an eager labrador, arriving at a brisk, even trot and when Akira walked in, it was a steady, staccato tapping that preceded him, the sound so faint that Harumi sometimes missed it when the salon was busy. 

In the last couple of years, she’d also become attuned to another set of feet coming up her corridor - athletic footfalls that took the steps two at a time and had become heavier as the years went by. Shindou-kun’s trademark exuberance was expressed in his footfalls, which was why now, Harumi was surprised to hear it slow to a standstill barely halfway up the stairs. 

There came some muted sounds of resistance before a familiar voice hissed, “ _Hurry up!_ ” the sound filtering quite clearly into the lunchtime quiet.

If Shindou was trying to be discreet, she thought, he really needed to work on his volume control. Harumi saw Akira look up from his usual seat in the back corner of the main space, one eyebrow raised. She shrugged back, spreading her hands in a gesture of cluelessness, watching as he turned back to the game he had been discussing, shaking his head fondly. 

From where she stood, Harumi could see the entire length of Akira’s torso as he leant across the table, long fingers deftly rearranging the shapes on the board. For a moment, nostalgia hit her as she recalled the days when only the top of his little dark head could be seen from behind the tables. 

How time flew and kids grew, she marvelled. It seemed like only yesterday that Harumi herself had set out job-hunting during the break, reluctantly following her grandfather into the new Go salon he had been nattering on about, and landed her first job as their cashier. Fresh out of high school and as obliviously sweet as young girls were, there was no way she could have predicted the way this summer job would alter the course of her life forever. 

Harumi shook herself out of her reverie when the door slid open to reveal an exasperated Shindou 5-dan, dragging behind him an uncomfortable looking boy of perhaps thirteen or fourteen. 

“Good afternoon!” She greeted them brightly, aware of the curious looks being directed at the pair. The boy jumped, clearly not expecting her presence, but quickly gathered himself to mumble a embarrassed ‘hello’. Shindou shot her a grin, depositing 500yen on the counter as he passed with a “Thanks, Harumi-chan!”. 

She sniffed, “Freeloader.” but let them through anyway. It had been years since Shindou had paid to play at the salon. When Kitajima-san had grilled him about it last year, he had cheekily replied that he was there as Touya’s plus one, and so should really be spared the charge. 

The patrons had laughed, satisfied by his wit, but a slight blush had decorated the bridge of Akira’s nose that entire night. Harumi had to wonder, sometimes, if that statement wasn’t more true than Shindou had let on. She looked back at the duo who had moved ahead of her station, the two of them looking remarkably alike in pose. Both their shoulders slouched slightly, hands tucked inside pockets and weight resting on one leg in a way that would have had Kitajima-san screaming _insolence!_. Their denim, baggy-clad legs and sporting shirts would have melded better with the streets of Shinjuku than the interior of an upper-class Go salon, though the boy had made the effort of shrugging on an ill-fitting white dress shirt over the rest of his get-up. 

“See?” Shindou was saying to his young companion, “I told you they don’t bite.” 

The boy looked unconvinced.

“Stop peering around.” Shindou groaned, as if he hadn’t done the exact same thing the first time he’d walked in. “Touya-sensei isn’t going to suddenly pop out of a corner.” The tall pro sighed as Akira stood from his chair and Shouji turned to him with startled eyes. 

“Well that one might.” He rolled his eyes, “But the big, scary, hakama-wearing one isn’t. So you can wipe that petrified expression off now, it really doesn’t suit you.”

Harumi shot him _a look_ , because being so short with the kid really wasn’t called for. It also wasn’t like Shindou in the slightest. While she had been understandably distant towards him for the first few years (he had made Akira-kun cry, for god’s sake), it very quickly became apparent that Shindou Hikaru was going to be a permanent and well-liked fixture around the Touya salon. What had also became apparent was that Harumi had been less angered by the lack of tact displayed by an eleven year old boy and more incensed by her own inability to step in, to say _anything_ that might comfort the small boy sobbing into the knees of his private school uniform. 

It was the first and last time she would see him cry. Later, after the event had been all but forgotten, Harumi would wonder whether Akira had cried out of disappointment, or the elation of having outlasted such a long stretch of dry desperation. 

That child, furnished with all the trappings of an adult mind, had finally grown into an adult’s body. Tall, lean and fitted out around the shoulders to mimic his father’s stately posture, Akira had still managed to retain his mother’s small, pointed face and dark, tapered features. Some weeks after his eighteenth birthday, he had stepped out of the hairdressers’ with his hair layered back from his face, his bangs slightly less blunt but still firmly in place. It didn’t _look_ drastically different, and he could still be mistaken for a page-boy if one looked past his height, but it certainly felt like Akira had grasped the nuances of who he was beyond the isolated child prodigy - had become his own distinguished individual, and stepped out of his father’s shadow. 

It was this young man that now wound his way between the close-packed tables, glancing curiously at Shouji as he made his way towards the new arrivals. Akira came to a stop, his eyebrows quirked. 

“Are you going to introduce us, Shindou?” He asked.

The man in question huffed, “I was just getting to that” before snapping his arms out in an sudden all-encompassing sweep of his lanky limbs. To his credit, Akira barely blinked.

“This,” Shindou paused dramatically, “is Shouji Rui.” 

Harumi hid a smile behind one hand at the abjectly mortified look that spread across Shouji’s face. The poor boy looked as though he wished he could sink through the floorboards and if she hadn’t been so amused by this little show, Harumi would probably have stepped in and intervened. 

“I would introduce you,” the taller pro continued his solo stage narration, “but I believe the two of your have already met.”

She saw Akira’s brow crease in genuine confusion, and was forcibly reminded of another young boy, years and years ago, who had walked in seeking to be remembered. He had never told her his name, and Akira-kun had forgotten it mere moments after he had been told. All Harumi had ever been able to dredge up from her memories was the hazy impression of narrow eyes and a hard, pinched look that didn’t belong on the face of any child. 

Shouji winced at the prolonged silence. “At the young lions tournament three years ago?” He prompted, “I played you in the first round.”

“He would have been even littler than he is now.” Shindou supplied unhelpfully, but Akira’s expression cleared.

“Oh yes, I remember. You reminded me of Shindou when he was your age.” 

“Huh?” Shindou swung around to stare at his new protege. “The kid looks nothing like me!” Beside him, Shouji nodded fervently. He’d never be caught dead with those bangs in public. 

“I meant his play.” Akira clarified, “It was very bold on the surface, with dashes of cunning which I did not anticipate coming from such a young player.”

Shindou looked placated. “I’m surprised you actually remembered him. He spent ages trying to get me to remember this girl I supposedly played but I can’t seem to recall her at all.” 

“That’s because you have a terrible memory for anything that doesn’t interest you.” Akira intoned as he led them towards the table he had set up. Shouji was beginning to see why so many people the lower ranks seemed to avoid associating with Shindou and Touya. It must be a massive self-esteem blow to have your name constantly forgotten. Apparently it had taken Touya four whole months to identify Isumi-san by name, and he was collectively recognised as one of the strongest young pros around. He felt a hot flare of pride in his belly. Shouji resolved to work hard instead of rubbing the acknowledgement in Oka’s face. 

Harumi watched as the determination settled into Shouji Rui’s features. It seemed encounters with Akira left people either relentlessly determined or hopelessly crushed. This boy would be one of the strong ones. She giggled to herself, feeling like she had somehow played a part in cultivating these brilliant children. 

“So,” Akira was saying, “I suppose you’re here to train for the upcoming tournament?”

It took Shouji a while to realise that Touya Akira, _the_ Touya Akira was had barely spared him a glance three years ago, was talking to him. Immediately, the flusteredness returned. 

“Y-yes.” He strangled out, before choking on air as Shindou’s arm landed heavily over his shoulders. 

“Of course he is.” The tall man proclaimed. “He’s my new student.” 

“ _What?_ ” Shouji yelped in surprise. Nogi-sensei would murder him if he had even the slightest inkling that Shouji would be ‘betraying the camp’. 

Akira carefully set down his teacup. “Shindou,” he began, paused as if he was reconsidering what he was about to say, then proceeded with, “you’re an absolute failure as a teacher.” Over the years, he had significantly refined his methods of insulting his rival. 

“WHAT?” Shouji’s self-proclaimed new teacher jumped up, face reddening. “I’ll have you know that I’m a better teacher than carp-face anyday! And-” 

“Carp-face?” Akira interrupted, looking bemused. “You wouldn’t be talking about Nogi-sensei would you?” 

Harumi let out an unbecoming snort from where she had been eavesdropping on their conversation. Akira looked like he was holding back a laugh. Shindou thumped the table. 

“ _Thank you_ , Harumi-chan!” He exclaimed, and several voices issued complaints against his inappropriateness. Akira bent down to collect the stones that had clattered onto the floor. She watched, closely, how their hands seemed to brush over each other as Akira deposited the stones in a spare goke and Shindou closed the lid. Such simple motions suddenly made her feel quite ancient. 

“Um, Harumi-san?” A small, nervous voice tapped quietly across her ears. The new boy gave her a small smile. “Where’s the bathroom?” 

“Ah!” She straightened up, ignoring the happy little jig her heart did at the sound of her given name. “It’s right down the corridor to your left, Rui-kun.” She wondered if maybe, after so many years of standing in place as plain old Ichikawa-san, she could finally get back to thinking of herself as just Harumi. 

Her phone began vibrating, the little half-heart keychain bouncing on the counter with the movement. 

“Yes darling?” She cooed into the phone, rather excitedly, though she would never admit that to anyone but herself. “Yes, I’ll be home before dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the flow of writing came a little easier this time round. Some of the prose tense/dialogue tends to be kind of runaway but hopefully that will work itself out over the next few chapters. (please stay with me? *author blinks hopefully*) 
> 
> So this is my return to writing and sort of Hikago as well (ah, the geeky classical chess manga with blatant homoerotic undertones I picked up in the young and innocent mid-2000s)


	3. Kisses from Korea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something short and sweet for whoops-I-missed-Valentine's-Day (Hopefully it's still the 14th somewhere else in the world ♡)

Shindou was bristling. 

Yeongha thought the boy’s face might fall off if he scowled any harder, though the displeasure was certainly a mixed blessing. He might have felt obliged to fill in the silence with small talk if the other hadn’t been so derisive of his presence. Suyeong had abandoned the conversation after being distracted by some popular music show on TV, even though he had been the one to suggest this entire webcam exchange in the first place. From the living room came the sounds of studio generated cheers and applause. 

Yeongha sighed. Shindou’s face darkened even further. Beside the obviously worked up teen, Touya Akira sat with his hands folded over his knees, his face perfectly serene. Yeongha sighed again, deeper this time. He really wasn’t getting anything out of this. The image was so grainy he couldn’t even properly admire Touya’s pretty little face. Admire, being the imperative verb of course, because Yeongha would never admit to ogling, not even if puberty had worked wonders. 

“Yeongha-sshi?” 

His lips lifted in a genuinely amused smile. It wasn’t often that he saw the young Japanese players outside of the Hokuto tournament, and with their graduation from that particular arena, contact had been even less as of late. Touya’s impeccable Korean, if a little on the slow side, startled him every single time. He supposed it was because the other exemplified Japanese tradition in every other respect that the use of other languages left him with such an impression of incongruity. Not that he minded the convenience, in any case.

“Your Korean has improved again, Touya-san.” He replied with some of his usual charm, watching as the figure on-screen inclined his head politely, the small movement lagging over the bad internet connection. 

“You’re being _too_ kind.” The dark haired man pointed out with just a hint of sardonic amusement, “I only said your name.”

Yeongha waved a hand dismissively, “It’s the only Korean word that matters.” he smiled, the smile of a flirtatious predator, “And you pronounce it perfectly.”

He had expected Touya to roll his eyes in exasperation, or make that small huffing laugh that meant the other had called his game, but to his utter surprise, Touya giggled. _Giggled_. 

Shindou, who, completely unversed in foreign languages beyond simple english greetings, and therefore had not been privy to their small exchange, turned to his companion with a look of dawning horror. There was commotion from the Japanese end before Shindou stood and abruptly dragged Touya off screen. There was a loud bang and an indignant yell, followed by Shindou’s middle finger making a reappearance in front of the camera. The connection went black before Yeongha could raise a condescending eyebrow. 

Suyeong padded back into the study, humming a familiar advertisement jingle. He paused at the sight of the empty screen, then turned very slowly to glare at Yeongha, who shrugged. 

“ _Ten minutes?_ ” The tall teen exploded, “Yeongha, that’s got to be a record.”

 

≡

 

The moment Hikaru pulled open the door, he got a faceful of angry, hissing Touya Akira. 

“That was _incredibly rude_ , that stunt you just pulled! Whatever issues you have with Ko, he is going to be a caretaker _just like us_. I don’t know _how_ you think you’re going to interact with him when we get to Korea, if you can’t even behave civilly _over the internet_! If you think I’m going to let you embarrass the whole team in front of foreign professionals in a _foreign country_ you have another think coming to— _Mmph!_ ” 

Kissing people was an effective and fool-proof way of shutting them up. Hikaru had read this in a dodgy looking novel Kawai-san carried around in his back pocket, and now abused this principle on a daily basis. Come to think of it, it’s how he had ended up in this unconventional but inevitable relationship with his rival in the first place, not that it hadn’t proved to provide some, ah, very interesting benefits. 

When he realised that Akira was stubbornly not going to reciprocate, Hikaru pulled his mouth off the other’s with a disgustingly cheesy smooching sound. Akira wrinkled his nose and pushed Hikaru’s face away with one hand, though the angry, pinched frown was beginning to look decidedly mellow around the edges. 

“Stop smothering me with your mouth you ingrate.” He glowered.

A knock on the poorly closed door had both men spinning around to face the intruder. 

“I hope this isn’t going to become a regular occurrence.” Waya commented, blowing an exaggerated yawn from where he was, once again, leaning against the doorjamb. Hikaru reckoned this habit had something to do with Waya’s height complex, and his increasingly desperate attempts to erect a mysterious and manly image that might counterbalance it. No one thought the efforts were very successful, something Hikaru attributed to the fact that Waya had a stupid looking face. His opinion hadn’t gone down very well when he’d voiced it, though that might have been because he’d said it in the presence of Morishita-sensei’s daughter. 

For about a month after the incident, Waya had made a point of avidly snooping into Hikaru’s personal affairs, something to which he now was obviously regressing. 

“ _The Japanese Institute is not for the nesting of love birds._ ” Waya sing-songed, flouncing into the room before declaring, “Get out, I’ve booked the computer for four-thirty.”

Hikaru threw him a dirty look. “What do _you_ need the computer for, midget? Net Go again?”

“ ‘S not like you’re using it anymore.” Waya shot back pointedly. “Besides, I have an appointment with Yang Hai-san at five. Just because I’m not an _international junior sensation_ ,” here, he smirked wickedly, “doesn’t mean I can’t interact with foreign players.”

Hikaru groaned. “I thought we agreed not to bring up that article anymore!” He protested, the mere thought of that womens’ magazine feature making him clench and unclench his fingers involuntarily. It didn’t help that Waya, and the bunch of other degenerates he called his friends, had practically memorised the article word for word, taking sadistic pleasure in quoting the most shudder-inducing lines at him when they felt the need to rib him off the deep end. 

“Can’t help it.” Waya sniggered, “ _Those firm fingers know just what to do_ , after all.” 

Akira snagged the back of his collar in a vice grip before Hikaru could lunge at Waya’s neck. 

“I believe you have an appointment very soon.” He intoned, maintaining his icy composure even as he manhandled his irate, struggling companion out into the hallway. “We wouldn’t want you to miss it.”

Behind him, the door slammed shut for the second time that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. People are referred to differently in each chapter or by each POV. For example, Akira is 'Touya' in Ch1 because that's how Shouji thinks of him (formally). But since Ichikawa-san calls him by first name, he's referred to as 'Akira' in Ch2. In private, Hikaru and Akira call each other by first name, though in Go circles they still use 'Shindou' and 'Touya'. Hope that's not too confusing.
> 
> 2\. Also, as 19x19 helpfully pointed out in the comments, Canon Oka is actually a boy. Yeah, that adorable fifth grader with long hair is male. But since I can't help thinking of him as a 'she'...that's what Oka has become here. He/She isn't really a big part of this story though, so hopefully it won't be too weird.


End file.
